Call #2
“Trivia is not to blame,” Mona said, her voice surprisingly sharp. “She’s been manipulated by the goddess Pandora for her entire life, and she’s strived tirelessly to make amends for her wrongdoings.”
Prue blinked, and the other witches fell silent at Mona’s outburst. After a long, awkward moment, Prue said softly, “I—I didn’t know.”
“I know.” Mona sighed. “I’m sorry. I suppose I have a soft spot for tortured souls possessed by a dark presence.” Her voice turned bitter, and her eyes grew distant. It wasn’t difficult to understand she was thinking of Evander.
Prue touched Mona’s hand. “Perhaps it’s better that he isn’t here. Perhaps this means he’ll be kept safe and survive all this.”
Cyrus swallowed hard, realizing Prue was implying the eight of them would not survive.
“Perhaps,” Mona said doubtfully, chewing on her lip. “I also wonder about our mother. I don’t believe she would abandon her own realm.”
Prue’s brows knitted together, her expression tightening. Cyrus intertwined his fingers with hers and offered a gentle squeeze.
With a shaky breath, Prue said, “It’s possible Gaia has her own matters to deal with. I haven’t seen her since I sent her to find Pandora—er, Trivia.”
“They both left to rebuild Elysium with Sol the sun god,” Mona supplied. “I haven’t heard from any of them since then.”
“Pandora’s darkness is still out there,” Cyrus said grimly. “And if Trivia is trying to distance herself from the vengeful goddess, then it’s likely those dark forces have targeted her.”
When Mona and Prue looked at each other with equally worried expressions, Cyrus knew this conversation wasn’t going anywhere helpful. With one last sip of water, he turned to the witches. “Are you ready to continue?”
Before they could respond, the ground began to quake. Cracks formed in the dirt, spearing in every direction. Concrete split, and glass shattered.
Cyrus grabbed Prue and pulled her to the ground, shielding her with his arms. Dust and dirt filled the air. The quaking intensified, roaring so loudly that Cyrus’s ears throbbed.
Screams pierced the air, and Prue shouted, “Mona!” She tried to move, but Cyrus tightened his grip around her, holding her in place.
When the air stilled and the dust settled, Cyrus slowly lifted his head, blinking against the hazy fog that surrounded them. A few witches coughed. Some had shifted to their serpent forms in self-defense.
Cyrus coughed and waved the dust out of his face. As soon as he released her, Prue darted forward in search of her sister. Mona was on the ground, partially concealed by a mountain of ash. Prue helped her sister up, dusting her off and wiping the ash from her eyes.
“What was that?” Mona choked, brushing the soot from her body.
Cyrus went perfectly still as the air seemed to whisper around him. The hairs on his arms stood on end. The back of his neck prickled with the sensation that someone was watching him.
Then, as he squinted through the haze of dust and ash, he made out the jagged edges of a massive fissure that had split through the broken city. Cracks covered the ground, but his eyes were drawn to a gaping pit that yawned before them, ready to devour them whole.
It looked like Tartarus. The very air seemed to thrum with the same energy as the place he detested most in all the realms. Unease and nausea spread through him, making his skin clammy as he recalled just how horrifying that place was.
The visions he had seen… The terrifying array of emotions he had experienced…
Mona suddenly stiffened and stepped forward, her eyes wide. “Evander?” Her voice was filled with part shock, part relief. A wide smile spread across her face. “It’s Evander! I can hear him!”
She tried to surge forward, but Prue clamped down on her wrist, holding her in place. Cyrus strained to hear, but there was nothing but eerie silence.
“What are you doing?” Mona snapped, jerking her arm out of Prue’s grip. “Let me go to him!”
This time, Cyrus grabbed her hand. “Mona. No one is calling.”
Mona shook her head. “No, I can hear him. Our souls call to one another. Even when no one else can hear our melody, I can. I know what he sounds like, and he needs me!”
Something wasn’t right. Fear wriggled through Cyrus’s chest, and he exchanged a worried look with Prue. Wordlessly, they nodded to one another.
They could not allow Mona to leave. Whoever was calling to her was not Evander.
“Cyrus,” whispered a voice.
Cyrus went rigid, his spine straightening. He swallowed hard. “Who’s there?”
Prue sucked in a sharp breath beside him.
“Cyrus, it’s me,” said the voice. “I’m alive.”
Cyrus’s breath hitched, and his heart seized in his chest. “L-Lagos?”
Lagos huffed, the sound so familiar and yet so foreign because Cyrus had thought he would never hear it again. “Of course it’s me. My death was only a ruse to trick the Titans. But I am well. I just need your help climbing out of this crater.”
Cyrus’s heart soared. Lagos was alive! His death was not on Cyrus’s hands. He could fix everything that had gone wrong that day. He could make things right again.
He stepped forward, but Prue’s fingernails dug into his arm. “Cyrus, stop,” she hissed. “It’s not real.”
“It’s Lagos,” Cyrus said, his eyes moist with tears. “Prue, he’s alive. He’s all right.”
Prue’s expression was grim as she shook her head slowly. “It’s not real. Remember Tartarus. Remember how we resisted those visions.”
Confusion and fear bled through the joy lifting Cyrus’s heart. He didn’t want to lose this relief that was spreading through him, warming his body and making his blood sing. He didn’t want to return to the reality where Lagos was dead.
“Goddess above,” Mona whispered, shaking her head violently.
Her eyes screwed shut, her brow furrowing as tension crossed her features.
“Oh, it hurts. It hurts!” With her free hand, she pressed it to her temple, her face contorted with pain.
She made an incoherent sound of frustration. “Prue! It’s—It’s—”
A deafening screech filled the air, making Cyrus’s ears throb.
He froze, his blood chilling as something whooshed nearby, causing a breeze to ripple through his hair.
Feathers brushed against his arms. He cringed away from them, drawing closer to Prue and Mona.
As he glanced around, he realized the witches were nowhere to be found.
“Farah?” he called out. “Nadia? Where are you?”
No answer.
A cold sense of foreboding filled his chest. Oh, gods. What was happening?
“Their call lures men to their deaths,” Mona was reciting, her gaze distant and slightly manic. “They sing songs of deepest desire and promises of wishes fulfilled. Their call is resisted by no one, not even the gods themselves.” She was shaking now as she met Prue’s gaze with wide, stunned eyes.
Cyrus’s heart dropped to his stomach. He knew exactly what creatures were hunting them.
Sirens.